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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747874">the half of it</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauwerance/pseuds/lauwerance'>lauwerance</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drunkenness, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, i would tag this as drunken confessions but I don't think it really counts, mentions of elopement, that's the most random assortment of characters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:54:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747874</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauwerance/pseuds/lauwerance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I should’ve married you,” FP slurs casually as Fred tries to get him up the stairs at Pop’s. “You’re nice to me. Even though I’m kinda a bastard.” Fred scowls.</p><p>“Don’t say that.” he says, practically lifting FP up the last few steps. FP raises an eyebrow, more focused on the facial gesture than getting his legs to help out in moving him around.</p><p>“What, the thing about me bein’ a bastard? ‘Cuz that’s true.”</p><p>(aka Fred takes FP home one night, and it's brought up again some years later)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fred Andrews/FP Jones II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the half of it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ok I think we can all agree that riverdale is a disgrace of a show but fred andrews is the most sane character in the entire series and I'm a huge sucker for fredsythe and the serpents in general. So. Fredsythe fic. I kinda want to write a sweet pea-centric fic because he has kinda unexpectedly become my favorite character, specifically season 2 sweet pea but we'll see...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I should’ve married you,” FP slurs casually as Fred tries to get him up the stairs at Pop’s. “You’re nice to me. Even though I’m kinda a bastard.” Fred scowls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that.” he says, practically lifting FP up the last few steps. FP raises an eyebrow, more focused on the facial gesture than getting his legs to help out in moving him around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, the thing about me bein’ a bastard? ‘Cuz that’s true.” he says as decisively as a formidably drunk FP can manage. Fred shakes his head, wrapping an arm around FP to let the taller man lean against him as he pulls open the door to the restaurant. Fred has a suspicion that if he let FP try to stand by himself he would topple over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you had married me, you wouldn’t have Jughead. Or Jellybean.” Fred points out. He doesn’t mention that Jellybean is far away in Toledo and FP’s shaping up to be the biggest deadbeat dad in Riverdale. Fred gives an awkward wave to a concerned and apprehensive looking Pop when he and FP finally get through the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even really see Jellybean ‘nymore.” FP mutters himself. Fred gets them to a booth and all but pushes FP onto one side, then slides onto the other with a deep sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fred’s tired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spent all day at a new construction site, lifting concrete blocks and now he’s spending his evening taking a plastered FP home. He knows he’d do it over and over again, already has done it over and over again. It doesn’t make it any easier, though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know what you’re saying, F.” Fred says, leaning back in the booth and studying FP as the other man pays very close attention to the salt shaker at the end of the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, you don’t know the half of it.” FP replies. Fred opens his mouth to wearily ask what half he doesn’t know when Pop mercifully comes over to them, still behind the counter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What can I get you, Andrews?” he asks, all the while eyeing FP. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a cheeseburger and fries to go, Pop. Thanks.” he says. Pop nods and moves away again, not before FP shouts an unhelpful “and a chocolate shake!” at Pop’s retreating back. Fred’s tempted to kick FP’s shins like they’re in high school again, just to see if it will get him to shut up. Pop turns around and looks at Fred, the question clear on his face. Fred gives a long-suffering sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and a chocolate shake.” he says. Pop nods but Fred can see him shaking his head as he walks the other way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FP is sprawled out on his side of the booth, lazily tapping his fingers on the table and staring at the ketchup bottle. Before he can regret it, Fred opens his mouth again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do I not know?” he asks. After a moment FP looks up at him, his brows scrunched in confusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Know what?” he asks. For a moment Fred considers taking it back, saying “nothing” and letting the two of them lapse back into silence, but he pushes forward. He’s got nothing to do but wait for Pop to finish making the food and the least he can do is to maybe get something helpful out of FP. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The half of it. What do I not know?” he asks again. FP gives him a lazy grin and shrugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You probably do know it. You just don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you know it. Y’know?” FP says slowly. Fred’s inner teenager is rolling his eyes, used to dealing with FP’s riddles but his outward, 40 year old self is tired and has an ache in his legs and really just wants to get FP and himself home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At Fred’s stony silence as a response, FP shakes his head, laughing a little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re here for me more than m’own family. I owe ya for that.” Fred doesn’t want to say “</span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, you do</span>
  </em>
  <span>” because that’s just not what he does. FP is right, by now he technically “owes” Fred a decade’s worth of favors, but if FP ever gets back on his feet, (and it’s an unfortunately big </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span>), Fred would never be able to cash those checks. He knows it now and he’ll know then that he’s not just doing this for the favors in return.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Even though ya fired me. From the company that </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> started.” FP mutters, glancing out the window. And. Ok. Fred wishes he hadn’t had to do that. But it was like he told Archie: you can’t save someone drowning if they keep dragging you down with them. And FP had practically been dragging him to the bottom of Sweetwater River. He cared about FP, he did, wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. But he had his family to think of and the construction company was his and many others’ livelihoods and when FP had put that in jeopardy… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fred just shakes his head as a response, and he can’t help but glance out the window, too. It’s a mild March evening, the kind that Fred should be spending at home, with Archie, going over a few baseball tricks, or maybe just sitting back and watching a movie. Archie’s been into comedies lately and who is Fred to say that the kid can’t watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Three Stooges</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a third time in a row. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s ok though, I get it,” FP speaks again, except his tone says that it’s completely not ok and he doesn’t get it at all. One of the several teenage waiters of Pop’s comes over with the milkshake in a plastic cup, a straw already poked through the lid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The food’s on its way.” she says with a small smile and walks away, and Fred turns his head from smiling back at her just in time to see FP reach for the cup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not for you.” he says, batting his hand away like FP’s just stealing fries off Fred’s plate like he did in highschool. Fred slides the milkshake over to his side of the table while FP gives him a look of drunk exasperation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell, Fred? I ordered that!” he says, spreading his arms wide as if to show that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m here, all of me, and all of me wants that milkshake.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fred keeps his expression steady.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is for Jughead,” he says sternly and FP rolls his eyes and falls back in the booth. “Besides, you’d just throw it up anyways. Or did you forget I rescued you from the drunk tank for the second time in </span>
  <em>
    <span>two weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Fred points out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to talk to me like… like I’m 12 or something.” FP protests. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then stop acting like you are.” Fred counters, and the two of them fall back to silence. Fred can tell that FP is mad at him, but who cares. It’s not like he’ll remember much of it in the morning, and he’s usually mad at Fred whenever he comes to pick FP up from whatever bender he’s been on. It used to be at the request of Gladys, but now that she’s gone to Toledo with Jellybean, it’s usually at the request of Sheriff Keller. He’s already had to post FP’s bail more than once, and he really doesn’t know how much more he can take, how much more his </span>
  <em>
    <span>bank account</span>
  </em>
  <span> can take. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You remember when we used to come here as kids?” FP says absentmindedly, still looking out the window like the dramatic ass that he is. Fred looks up from where he had been zoning out on the freshly cleaned countertop of the booth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Of course.” he says. FP points to a couple stools at the bartop, using two fingers like he’s holding up a horizontal peace sign. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We used to sit there, the two of us.” FP says, letting his arm flop back down at his side. Fred nods, remembering. FP laughs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And, and we’d drive over here in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shaggin’ Wagon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you remember that, you remember that old machine?” It takes a lot for Fred to keep a small smile off his face. It’s not very hard though when he remembers exactly why he’s sat here with FP Jones this late on a Friday. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I remember.” Fred nods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The girls would just flock to you from all around. You were always the one they came to see.” FP says, tapping his fingers in a random rhythm on the table, to a tune that only FP can hear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this you trying to say you were jealous? Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> jealous?” Fred can’t help but suggest, can’t help but tease. FP grins a sloppy grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wish.” he says as Pop comes over and puts the rest of Fred’s order on the bar top across from them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fred leaves FP reclining in the booth as he gets up to pay, and after a strained smile at Pop’s “take care, you two” he grabs the food and the milkshake and wonders how to get FP out to his truck without doing damage to both parties. A moment passes before he points a finger at FP.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stay put. I’ll be right back.” he demands, and FP shrugs like he didn’t even hear what Fred said; he might not have. But at least when Fred gets back from his truck, FP is still in the same spot he left him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, c’mon.” Fred sighs and hauls FP to his feet unceremoniously. Surprisingly, FP is commentless as they make their way towards the door, and Fred doesn’t know whether he should be relieved or angry or worried that FP seems to be mellowing out for the evening. Relieved that it will make it easier to get him home, angry that he’s in this position in the first place, worried that if FP keeps doing this that he’ll lose his family for good and maybe even his life.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of thinking about it too much while he still has the culprit on his hands, Fred gets FP into the passenger seat and makes sure no limbs are hanging out before getting into the truck himself and starting the engine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They drive for a little while in silence, FP with his head leaned against the passenger window and Fred trying not to think about anything but the road ahead of him and what he’s going to do when he gets home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You alive over there?” Fred finally breaks the silence, because he can’t stand not being able to discern FP’s breath in the dark car. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I guess worry won out</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks. FP shifts around a little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” he mumbles after a second.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re almost there.” Fred says absentmindedly, and FP laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I really should have married you,” FP says, leaning against the car door like he can barely hold himself up. “But I’d make a pretty crappy housewife.” he jokes. Fred doesn’t laugh, because FP needs someone to be mad at him, and Fred is exactly the man for the job.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you would.” he says, partially because it’s he needs FP to know he’s mad and partially because the image of FP in the kitchen, telling a tiny Archie and Jughead to sit down, shut up and eat their vegetables while they laugh at him is a little too real. “We wouldn’t have even been able to get married.” he says and god it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel like he’s talking to a little kid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s stupid.” FP mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Fred says quietly, wondering if he does or doesn’t want FP to hear it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just elope.” FP says, waving a weak hand around before resting it across his stomach, his eyes closed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a little late for that.” Fred responds, turning down another one of Riverdale’s dimly lit roads.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s barely 1 o’clock.” FP says helpfully, pointing to the analog clock in the dash of the car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s really not what I meant.” Fred responds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, you’re no fuckin’ fun.” FP says, and Fred can hear the scowl in his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, one of us has to be no fun.” he says back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is that supposed to mean?” FP asks, his voice tinged with anger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It means that I’m the one taking your drunk ass home, Jones.” Fred snaps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so I’m Jones, now?” FP grumbles angrily. “Fine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Andrews.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>elope with me.” Fred laughs, a light, angry thing of disbelief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you. I think you really thought that that would work.” Fred says. He doesn’t wait for a response. “I’m taking you home to your </span>
  <em>
    <span>son</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now, the one who </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably </span>
  </em>
  <span>hasn’t seen you all day! You </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get yourself together, FP!” Fred all but shouts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> not the one who forced me into this situation! If you hadn’t-” FP starts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Fred says coldly; a warning. “Don’t start blaming this on anyone else.” It’s out of character, Fred isn’t a very confrontational person. But it’s just the two of them in the truck right now and it’s not like one of them can get out and walk, so he confronts. Fred doesn’t care so much that FP is blaming everything going wrong in his life on him. He can live with that. It’s more that he cares that FP thinks it’s someone else’s fault that he got too drunk to even find his way home, someone else’s fault that Jughead’s spending more time at the drive-in than his house, because yeah, Fred knows about that.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fred is honestly surprised when the line works and FP finally shuts up. Fred really expected him to keep arguing, he’s seen how far Drunk FP can take things, but the man in the passenger seat is quiet the rest of the way to the trailer. When he parks and gets out of the driver’s side to go around and get FP out of the car, Fred can only hope he didn’t lose his house keys.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thankfully it doesn’t take Fred long to find them in FP’s coat pocket and he drapes an arm around the still-quiet serpent as they make their way to the door of the trailer. It takes Fred a minute to unlock it, what with a FP under one arm and the food from Pop’s under the other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he finally gets through the door he sets the food on the counter first, glancing around for any sign of Jughead as he closes the door behind him with one foot. He doesn’t see the kid anywhere, but that could mean any number of things, so he decides to deal with that after he deals with FP.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fred leads FP over to the Jones’ beat up couch, the one that Fred had helped them put in the trailer. He lets FP sink slowly onto it before letting gravity take its course and pulling FP’s body down into a lying position on the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Freddy…” FP mutters. “No kiss goodnight?” he asks drowsily. Fred crouches down next to the couch so that they’re nearly eye level and quirks an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Little fast there, F. We haven’t even eloped yet.” he says back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you’re saying that we will.” FP grins, his blinks getting slower and longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ask me again in a few years.” Fred says vaguely, and FP finally closes his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good…” he says quietly. Fred hears a shuffling behind him and turns to see Jughead coming to stand behind the counter where Fred had put the food, rubbing his eyes like he had just been woken up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Mr. A,” he says, casually, like this is normal, and that makes Fred’s chest ache. “How are you?” Jughead asks sleepily, and Fred smiles, trying to keep the pang of sadness out of his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, kid. You hungry?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>5 years later</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember when I uh… I asked you to elope?” FP asks, trying to flip a pancake and failing miserably, watching it land on the side of the pan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s standing in Fred’s kitchen, trying to make breakfast for the two of them and their two sons who are probably up in Archie’s room or out in the garage trying to figure out how to make the most trouble. He got out of jail almost 2 months ago, and has been hovering around Fred ever since. He wasn’t able to be there when Fred got shot, and he’s planning to make up for it by being a constant presence now. Little by little, he’s trying to work his way back into Fred’s life. So FP had dragged Jughead out of bed this morning and gotten them both over to the Andrews’ residence, talking up some lame excuse for going over so early that even he can’t remember. Fred moves slower now, in a way that makes FP nervous; he wants to have enough energy for the both of them and be way gentler with Fred than necessary all at the same time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The least he can do is make pancakes on a Saturday morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FP would be lying if he said he just now remembered that night when Fred had taken him home 5 years ago. The truth is, he’s been thinking about it all day, worrying about whether or not he should bring it up. And he finally has, just now, before his nerves get the better of him and he never asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fred looks up from his newspaper with a surprised and a little bit confused expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You remember that?” he asks, blinking at FP. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” FP says very eloquently, suddenly feeling more anxious under Fred’s gaze. “I remember.” He listens to the sound of the boys playing music in the garage, some sort of messy melody that reminds him way too much of the noisy shit he and Fred played in their high school band that only lasted around 3 months. The one he let Fred name because he was way too head over heels to say no. Fred laughs, and FP can hear a little sadness in it that he wishes wasn’t there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well yeah I remember, I remember taking your drunk ass home in the middle of the night.” Fred says, and FP smirks in a way that’s more of a grimace and pokes at a pancake with the spatula.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you ever think about it?” FP isn’t sure what he’s asking. If Fred thought about that night, or the things that would slip out of FP’s mouth when he was a little too far gone. A terrified part of him wonders if he’s asking if Fred ever considered the offer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks up to see Fred smiling at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know the half of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>all comments and kudos are appreciated, I hoped whoever read this liked my contribution to the fredsythe tag :))</p></blockquote></div></div>
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